e of him than by elevating his
huge mis-shapen head for the purpose of staring at him, and then again
sinking it upon his bosom, as if in profound meditation. Earnscliff
looked around him, and observed that the hermit had increased his
accommodations by the construction of a shed for the reception of his
goats.

"You labour hard, Elshie," he said, willing to lead this singular being
into conversation.

"Labour," re-echoed the Dwarf, "is the mildest evil of a lot so
miserable as that of mankind; better to labour like me, than sport like
you."

"I cannot defend the humanity of our ordinary rural sports, Elshie, and
yet--"

"And yet," interrupted the Dwarf, "they are better than your ordinary
business; better to exercise idle and wanton cruelty on mute fishes than
on your fellow-creatures. Yet why should I say so? Why should not the
whole human herd butt, gore, and gorge upon each other, till all are
extirpated but one huge and over-fed Behemoth, and he, when he had
throttled and gnawed the bones of all his fellows--he, when his prey
failed him, to be roaring whole days for lack of food, and, finally,
to die, inch by inch, of famine--it were a consummation worthy of the
race!"

"Your deeds are better, Elshie, than your words," answered Earnscliff;
"you labour to preserve the race whom your misanthropy slanders."

"I do; but why?--Hearken. You are one on whom I look with the least
loathing, and I care not, if, contrary to my wont, I waste a few words
in compassion to your infatuated blindness. If I cannot send disease
into families, and murrain among the herds, can I attain the same end
so well as by prolonging the lives of those who can serve the purpose of
destruction as effectually?--If Alice of Bower had died in winter, would
young Ruthwin have been slain for her love the last spring?--Who
thought of penning their cattle beneath the tower when the Red Reiver of
Westburnflat was deemed to be on his death-bed?--My draughts, my skill,
recovered him. And, now, who dare leave his herd upon the lea without a
watch, or go to bed without unchaining the sleuth-hound?"

"I own," answered Earnscliff; "you did little good to society by the
last of these cures. But, to balance the evil, there is my friend
Hobbie, honest Hobbie of the Heugh-foot, your skill relieved him last
winter in a fever that might have cost him his life."

"Thus think the children of clay in their ignorance," said: the Dwarf,
smiling maliciously, "an